RumpelStillAsCrazyAsEvertskin
by Meltha
Summary: The trio are nearly at each other’s throats in book seven, but another of Hermione’s insane Muggle fairy tales comes to the rescue. Fifth in a series though each can stand alone .


Author: Meltha

Rating: PG for mild language and innuendo

Feedback: Yes, thank you.

Spoilers: For Deathly Hallows

Distribution: The Blackberry Patch and . If you're interested, please let me know.

Summary: The trio are nearly at each other's throats in book seven, but another of Hermione's insane Muggle fairy tales comes to the rescue. Fifth in a series (though each can stand alone).

Author's note: The version of Rumpelstiltskin I'm using is an amalgam from different sources, but all the facets of it do show up in the traditional stories.

Disclaimer: All characters are owned by J. K. Rowling, a wonderful author whose characters I have borrowed for a completely profit-free flight of fancy. Kindly do not sue me, please, as I am terrified of you. Thank you.

Rumpel-Still-as-Crazy-as-Ever-tskin

"Well, if you have any brilliant ideas, Ron, please, be sure to enlighten us!" Harry yelled, his patience completely shattered.

"I told you that orphanage wasn't going to come to anything, not that you ever listen to what I have to say!" Ron yelled back, his face so red his freckles had disappeared into the coloring of his skin. "But no, oh great and mighty Chosen One! You had to check that out to be sure, and all the while I've said we ought to risk a visit home to see if we can pick up on any news!"

"We can't!" Harry said, really angry. "If we show so much as a toe back at the Burrow, the Ministry will have our hides, and you know it."

"Maybe I'd prefer a fight rather than skulking from place to place like we've done something wrong," Ron said, throwing himself into one of the ratty chairs in the tent in a huff.

"And, might I ask, after we inevitably lose that fight and your Pureblood self is excused from any wrong doing, what do you think will happen to Undesirable Number One over there," Hermione said quietly from the kitchen, nodding at Harry, "and a Mudblood who's already on You-Know-Who's bad side. Do you suppose they'll give us chocolates and a free trip to Tahiti?"

Ron opened his mouth to retort, but the truth of her statement made him unable to come up with anything to say. Instead, he sighed deeply.

"Sorry, mate," he said to Harry, then turned to Hermione, adding, "you, too. I'm just… fed up, I suppose."

"Or not fed enough," Harry said, the anger draining from him in an exhausted rush as his stomach growled loudly. "We're all on edge."

"Hungry and homesick," Hermione said, a thoughtful look on her face. "It's a bad combination, especially when there's nothing to do but stare at the walls and peck at one another."

Ron caught Harry's eye, and he already knew what his friend was going to suggest.

"Shall we say it together?" Harry said, surprised to find himself feeling playful.

"Oh, let's," Ron said, doffing an imaginary hat.

"Hermione," they said in chorus, "tell us a story!"

She rolled her eyes at their antics, but Harry couldn't help feeling pleased that, at least this time, the increasingly volatile situation had been completely disarmed with no real harm done.

"Fine," she said, settling into another chair. "I know whatever argument I give, you'll still want one. What kind of story do you want?"

"Oh, you choose," Ron said with a magnanimous wave of his hand. "I'm sure whatever you pick will be suitably mental."

Harry laughed, and then a dusty pillow hit him in the face, thrown by a minorly annoyed Hermione.

"Then I'll tell you the story of… well, I won't give you the name just yet," she said primly, folding her hands in her lap, "as it will give too much away."

"The title gives too much away?" Ron asked, raising an eyebrow. "Oookay, so, once upon a time?"

"Very good," Hermione said in the same tone one might expect from a teacher praising a six-year-old for holding a pencil correctly. "Once upon a time, in a kingdom far away, there lived a miller who had a beautiful daughter."

"Did he have any ugly daughters?" Ron asked.

"No, just the one pretty daughter," Hermione said.

"Oh," Ron said, sounding a little disappointed. "Does he marry someone with ugly daughters?"

"No, he doesn't marry anyone at all," Hermione said, confused. "Why?"

"It's just that usually the ones with the evil, ugly step-daughters or wicked second wives turn out particularly odd," Ron said shrugging. "Okay, so we've got one pretty bird. What's this one's name?"

"Actually, she doesn't have one," Hermione said. "It doesn't really come into the story."

"At least Red Riding Hood had a nickname," Ron said, looking shocked. "Nothing at all for the poor girl?"

"Apparently not," Hermione said. "It's rather sad, isn't it? In any case, the girl's father was drinking in the local tavern one day and became quite drunk. Each of the men in the tavern was boasting about the different things their daughters were skilled at doing. One called out, 'My daughter can bake bread so quickly, we can't finish buttering one loaf before another is done!' Another said, 'That's nothing! My daughter can sew so well that she can clothe a family of ten in less than a day!' But the miller blurted out, 'I can best you all! My daughter can spin plain straw into pure gold!'"

"Straw into gold?" Harry said. "That's incredibly random."

"Yeah," Ron agreed. "He might as well have said she could get hippogriffs to fly upside down or make the Minister of Magic to accomplish anything he promises."

"He didn't, though" Hermione said. "He said she could spin straw into gold."

"No, she couldn't," Ron said firmly. "That's not possible."

"You're quite right," Hermione said with a nod. "The girl couldn't spin straw into gold at all, and the father was lying."

"Well, so far, this one makes a pretty good load of sense," Ron said approvingly. "I'm sure it won't last though."

"Probably not," Harry agreed. "I'm guessing the townsfolk believed the father?"

"Exactly," Hermione said.

"Bright group, aren't they?" Ron said.

"Word of the very talented daughter of the miller spread like wildfire through the town, and the news of her ability to spin straw into gold eventually reached the king's ears," Hermione went on.

"Who I'm guessing didn't think there was even a remote chance that the father might have been embellishing a bit," Ron said.

"No, he believed the tale as well," Hermione said.

"Of course he did," Ron said, rolling his eyes. "No offense, Hermione, but Muggles seem pretty dim in these things."

"They're only stories," Hermione pointed out testily. "Obviously not all Muggles are idiotic enough to believe a miller's daughter can spin straw into gold!"

"No," Harry said seriously. "Now, a lawyer's daughter, that's possible. Maybe a grocer's daughter. Could be an outside chance on a pawn broker's daughter…"

"Tremendously funny," Hermione said, grimacing. "The king called for the girl to be brought to his castle."

"Why not the father?" Harry asked.

"I don't know," Hermione said. "We actually never hear of him again in the story."

"Poor kid's going to be in for a right lot of trouble," Ron said.

"More than you might think," Hermione said. "Once the girl was brought before him, the king said, 'Girl, your father says you can spin straw into gold. This very night you are to be locked in a room with naught but straw and a spinning wheel. When dawn comes, if you have not spun all the straw into gold, you shall die.'"

"Well, that's just rotten!" Ron said indignantly. "She's not the one who went round telling giant lies, and he didn't even ask her if it was true!"

"In one of the versions, he does," Hermione said, "but he's holding her father in jail, and if she says he lied, her father will be killed, and if the straw isn't spun into gold, it's only the girl who dies because she's obstinate and disobeyed the king."

"That's still stupid," Ron said. "What a poor excuse for a king, killing girls just because they can't spin straw into gold."

"I agree," Hermione said, looking at him proudly. "The girl was indeed locked in a small room with many bales of straw and a spinning wheel."

"I suppose if she got really desperate she could prick her finger on the spindle and hope to doze off for a hundred years or so," Ron suggested.

"Not every spinning wheel does that," Hermione sighed, wiping her face with her hand.

"Nah," Ron agreed. "Just the ones cursed by evil fairies who didn't get invited to the best parties, I guess. I don't think Nameless Girl is lucky enough to randomly wind up with one of those."

"No," Hermione said. "She had no idea what to do, so after they bolted the door shut, she sat down and began to cry."

"Might be second cousin to Ashyweeper," Ron said.

"Cinderella," Hermione corrected him automatically.

"Yeah, her," Ron said. "I suppose we could call this one Strawweeper, but that's not particularly catchy."

Hermione gave him a withering look.

"'What shall I do?' said the girl to the empty room. 'I don't know how to spin straw into gold, and when dawn comes, I shall be killed!'" Hermione said, wringing her hands in imitation of the miller's daughter's despair.

"She started talking to the straw?" Ron asked, then made a screw loose motion at the side of his head. "Not a good sign, that."

"I can't really blame her, though, given the circumstances," Harry said. "I'd probably start talking to bales of hay too."

"Actually, it turned out to be just what she needed to do," Hermione said.

"The straw talked back?" Ron asked, his eyes bugging out.

"No, the straw did not talk back," Hermione said, sighing dramatically. "Suddenly, a tiny little man appeared."

"Okay," Ron said. "Maybe he was living in the straw, then?"

"I don't know, maybe," Hermione said, and Harry thought she looked close to whapping both of them upside the head at any moment. "The little man said, 'I have heard your problem, and I can fix it.'"

"He knows how to open the door?" Ron suggested hopefully.

"No," Hermione said. "He knew how to spin straw into gold."

"Nah, that goes against the basic rules of magic," Ron said dismissively.

"No, really, he could spin the straw into gold," Hermione said.

Ron stared at her.

"Pull the other one," he finally said.

"At least in this story, there was some magical way that straw turned into gold," Hermione repeated.

"It sounds a little like the Sorcerer's Stone," Harry said thoughtfully, "though that at least only turned metal into gold."

"You know, I think you might be on to something there," Hermione said, thinking carefully. "This story does come from a time when plenty of Muggles believed it was possible to transform base metals into gold if the correct chemicals were used, but the story does go further with its inclusion of straw as the transforming material, suggesting the daughter's abilities, and thus the little man's, would have to be far beyond even the commonplace levels of higher magic. However, the presence of organic material could also suggest a more benevolent aspect to the magic than metal might, since metal can be used in weaponry, but who ever heard of hurting someone with straw? On the other hand, it could also possibly suggest a society that predates the use of metalwork but does possess the ability to weave textiles, suggesting a more domestic yet predominantly technologically backward culture…"

"Hermione," Ron said, interrupting her train of thought, "I lost you right after 'you might be on to something.'"

"Sorry," Hermione said, smiling sheepishly. "Habit. In any case, the girl was thrilled the little man could spin straw into gold…"

"No, he couldn't," Ron mumbled under his breath, and Harry lightly punched him in the arm.

"But the little man wouldn't do this for free. 'What will you give me if I do this for you?' asked the little man, and the girl said, 'I shall give you my necklace,'" Hermione said.

"Where'd she get a necklace?" Harry asked. "I'm guessing the typical miller's daughter didn't have jewelry."

"I don't know. It probably wasn't a very expensive necklace, but I suppose that wouldn't be the point. If he could spin straw into gold, he'd be as rich as he wanted anyway and could have as many necklaces as he liked. But the little man did agree to spin the straw into gold for the fee of the necklace all the same," Hermione said. "The girl watched through the whole night as he looped straw onto the wheel and then with a whir it would spin off, magically transformed into gold. She couldn't quite see how he did it, though."

"Because it's not ruddy possible in the first place," Ron groused quietly.

"When the first streaks of dawn became visible from the room's window…" Hermione began, but Ron immediately interrupted.

"The room has a window? Why didn't she just crawl out it and run away then instead of sitting around sobbing and swapping jewelry with short men who live in haystacks?"

"Dawn was visible through the very tiny window," Hermione said, her head starting to vibrate with the effort of control, "which she couldn't possibly have climbed through…"

"Okay, I can buy that," Ron said, leaning back in his chair. "Go on."

"Oh, may I?" Hermione said in mock ecstasy. "When dawn broke, the last of the straw was spun, the girl gave the little man her necklace, and he disappeared. No sooner had she done this than the door opened and the king saw the piles of gold all around the young girl. He was filled with both glee and greed."

"Greed? He's got a room filled with gold. What more did he want?" Harry asked.

"More gold," Hermione said.

"Sounds like Dudley," Harry said. "No matter what he had, he'd never be satisfied."

"Then I hereby name this greedy git King Dudley," Ron said, bowing. "Someone in this story needs a name."

"Indeed they do," Hermione said mysteriously. "The king, not content with the small room full of gold, decreed that the girl should be locked in a much larger room filled floor to rafter with straw, and that once again, if she had not finished spinning all the straw into gold by sunrise, she would die."

"Nice fellow," Ron said, grimacing. "If he's going to up the amount of straw she needs to spin into gold, shouldn't he at least give her more time?"

"You'd think so, but he was both greedy and impatient, I guess," Hermione said.

"Lovely traits," Ron said. "What does he do for fun besides locking up pretty girls and asking them to do impossible tasks? Pull chairs out from under little old ladies' bums? Or maybe he really does have a whole castle full of girls trying to pull off freakishly bizarre tasks: one locked in a cupboard trying to knit dead leaves into galleons, maybe, and another stuffed in the attic attempting to stomp on horse dung until it turns into diamonds."

"As soon as the girl was locked in the new room full of straw, she began to cry once again," Hermione said.

"Which somehow acted as a hailing spell for the little man to reappear, I'd wager," Ron said.

"He did reappear, and he again offered to spin the straw into gold so long as she offered payment. The girl had only one treasure left, a ring, which she gave the little man, and he accepted it, spun the straw into gold, and left as the first light of dawn came through the window," Hermione said.

"What's the straw look like after it's turned into gold, anyway?" Ron asked. "Is it still straw-shaped?"

Hermione looked a little amused, but said, "I don't really know. I'd guess so. I mean, straw is strands, sort of thread-shaped, so probably the gold was too? Maybe it was wound up in a ball like knitting wool or something."

"The king would have to look bloody odd carrying around balls of gold, maybe unrolling it and snapping it with pliers to pay for things," Ron said, but though even Hermione laughed a little, Harry seemed oddly silent, not that his friends noticed.

"The king was so impressed by the girl's work that he decided on a rash course of action. He declared there was but one test left. The girl was locked in a great room, the largest in the whole castle, and the king had it packed, every square foot, with piles and piles of straw, leaving only the smallest space possible for the spinning wheel. The king declared that the next morning, one of two things would happen. If all the straw had not been spun into gold, the girl would die."

"Give me break," Ron said. "The poor kid hasn't slept in two days! He really expects her to stay up again?"

"Apparently so. He's really not a nice person," Hermione said, shuddering.

"What's the second thing that could happen? He covers the whole kingdom in straw and has her spin it into gold by the next morning on pain of death for a fourth night running?" Ron asked.

"No. If she managed to spin all the straw into gold, the king would marry her," Hermione said.

Ron considered a moment, then said, "I think I'd prefer death myself."

"Frankly, the thought occurred to me as well," Hermione said. "Still, the girl was locked in the cathedral-sized room packed with more straw than she had known existed in all the world."

"Say, where did the king get all that straw to begin with?" Ron asked.

"From farmers, I'd guess," Hermione said.

"Yeah, but that's a lot of straw, isn't it? I mean, did he wind up importing straw from neighboring kingdoms? There couldn't be that much straw in one little kingdom. And how was he having it shipped in? Wouldn't it cause terrible traffic jams all over the place? And what were the animals and such eating while he was going on his big three day gold-fest? Did he just let them all starve?" Ron asked in a rush.

"It's a story, Ron," Hermione explained calmly in a voice that sounded just a bit murderous. "The imaginary people did not have an imaginary traffic jam full of imaginary wagons carrying imaginary straw to the imaginary castle where the imaginary king lived and the imaginary captive miller's daughter was having the imaginary little man spin imaginary gold. It's not real, Ron, so quit over-analyzing it!"

"Says the girl who was going on about prehistoric societies with no access to metalwork versus the military implications of turning metal into gold," Ron said with a smirk.

"You got that?" she said, surprised.

"Yeah," he said. "I do actually pay some attention, you know. But anyway, what's up with the girl drowning in straw?"

"Well, when she was locked in the new room, she began to cry once more," Hermione said, still rather impressed.

"She cries a lot," Ron said sympathetically. "Did the little man come again?"

"Yes," Hermione said, "he did, but when he appeared the girl cried all the harder, for she had nothing left with which to pay him. But the little man said, 'Don't cry. There is something you have that I want.'"

"I'm really hoping that a pretty girl and piles and piles of hay aren't adding up to the equation I think they are," Ron said.

"No, Ronald," Hermione said. "The little man asked the girl to promise to give him her firstborn child."

"Well, that's a terrible deal!" Ron said. "She didn't agree?"

"She did," Hermione admitted. "The stories all say that she thought that no one knew the future and any number of things could happen, but really she was afraid of dying, and she agreed to give her first child to the little man."

"I suppose if it's that greedy bloke's kid, it's probably not that much of a loss anyway," Ron snorted. "So the little man spun the straw into gold?"

"Yes, all of it, and the king, whose storehouses were full to bursting with gold now, rejoiced and married the girl on the spot the next morning," Hermione said.

"Bet she was thrilled to marry King Dudley the Deplorable," Ron said. "Wonder if her old dad showed up to give her away, louse that he was."

"No idea," Hermione said.

"Sounds like she traded one bad lot for another," Harry said a little morosely.

"Perhaps so, but believe it or not the king never comes into the story again either," Hermione said. "More than likely he left her pretty much alone. A year passed, and the new queen gave birth to a son."

"Sounds like he didn't leave her alone all that much," Ron said.

"A few weeks after the child's birth, as the queen was rocking the cradle and humming a lullaby, the little man suddenly appeared in the room," Hermione said. "The queen had been so happy that she had completely forgotten about her bargain until she saw him."

"Well, it's pretty easy to forget a little thing like that. I mean, really, if someone trades their firstborn kid, is it going to weight heavily on their mind all the time? Of course not," Ron said sarcastically.

"The little man said, 'I am here for the child. Give him to me!' But the queen wept and wept," Hermione said.

"This girl's going to wind up with trouble in her tear ducts," Ron said, shaking his head. "Hey, you don't suppose she's allergic to straw, do you? That'd explain a lot!"

"The little man was moved to pity," Hermione said, giving Ron a filthy look.

"At least someone in this story has some pity," Ron said.

"He said, 'Queen, if you can guess my name in three days, I shall let you keep the child, but if you cannot, then you must give him to me.' With that, he disappeared once more," she said.

"Kind of a vague quest, isn't it?" Ron said. "Guessing a name? I mean, there's thousands, millions of names. I've got an uncle named Jklngszkrtpbt."

"Named what?" Harry said, looking at him like he was crazy.

"Jklngszkrtpbt," Ron said, sounding like he was practically ripping his tongue in half to say it. "It's a bit tricky to pronounce, what with not having any vowels. His mum was a bit daft, but he got off lucky compared to his twin."

"What was his twin named?" Hermione asked.

"Gordon," Ron said with a wince.

"What's so horrid about that?" Harry said.

"The twin was a girl," Ron explained. "Can you imagine how bad that was at school?"

"And yet you tease me about my name," Hermione said.

"Well, yeah," Ron said. "You're not named Gordon. It's not as tragic."

Hermione appeared to consider this a moment before saying, "Actually, you're right. That's much worse."

Ron smirked in satisfaction.

"The queen sat all the next day writing down every name she could ever remember hearing, and when the little man appeared that night, she listed them off, one by one. 'Are you Matthew? Peter? Alphonsus? Charles? Stephen? Gregory? William? Anthony? Marcus?' To each name, the little man answered with a resounding, 'No, that's not my name!' At length, after many hours, the queen had tried every name she had ever heard of, and not one of them was the little man's name. Laughing at her defeat, he disappeared until the next night," Hermione went on.

"It'd have to be pretty hard to list every name ever," Ron said, considering.

"Impossible," Hermione agreed, "just like spinning straw into gold, which I think was the point. The next day, the queen sent messengers to every part of the kingdom to create lists of strange, unusual, or unique names. That night, with all their lists before her, the queen asked the little man another set of names. 'Are you called Grumbleburner? Murgondin? Crookshanks?' But to each name, the little man answered, 'No, that is not my name!' until finally she reached the end of her list and he disappeared, vowing to return and take the child the next night unless she had completed her task of finding his name."

"Crookshanks?" Ron asked. "Is that where your cat got his name?"

"Actually, it really is one of the names that's used most often in the story, along with Skimbleshanks. I don't know. I think the pet store named him that because, well, I don't know if you've noticed, but his legs are a little bit... not perfectly straight," Hermione said delicately.

"He's bowlegged," Ron said bluntly. "Okay, I get the crooked bit, but shanks?"

"It's another word for legs," Hermione said, shooting him a nasty look, "and don't call Crookshanks bowlegged. He's just a bit different."

"Bit ugly, you mean," Ron whispered to Harry, but once again Ron was hit in the head with a pillow.

"That particular day," Hermione said without skipping a beat from tossing it at him, "one of the messengers went deep into the forest, and there he saw something very strange. A tiny little man was dancing around a fire, singing at the top of his lungs, 'Today I brew, tomorrow I bake, for tonight the queen's firstborn I take, for no one knows, much to her shame, that Rumpelstiltskin is my name.'"

"Rumpelstiltskin?" Harry said, staring. "That's his name?"

"That's his name," Hermione said. "It's also the name of the story, which really rather spoils it."

"I've heard weirder," Ron said, shrugging.

"Yes, well, your Uncle Jklnszkrtbth aside…" Hermione said.

"Jklngszkrtpbt," he corrected her. "The accent's on the p. In any case, what a coincidence that the messenger just happened upon the little man while he just happened to be singing a weird song that just happened to tell his name."

"Isn't it, though?" Hermione said.

"Yeah, but I don't really get why he wants the kid to begin with," Ron said. "What's he going to do with it?"

"Well, some people think that 'tomorrow I bake' suggests he was going to eat the prince," Hermione said with a shudder.

"Cannibalism," Ron said, nodding. "Good. I was waiting for the required weirdly disgusting and deeply disturbing portion of the story to come up."

"They're not all disturbing and disgusting!" she said.

"Hermione, face it. Sliced off toes and heels, step-mothers who think they're eating their step-daughter's heart, mother-in-laws who try to throw their grandchildren in cauldrons of scorpions and spiders, cross-dressing wolves who eat grannies and girls whole only to have them erupt out of their stomachs intact? They're entertaining, but yeah, disturbing and disgusting fits," he said, shrugging.

She opened her mouth to protest, then seemed to reconsider.

"Conceded," she said with a wry smile before going on. "The messenger ran back to the castle and told his tale to the queen, who laughed with joy when she heard the news. Not a few seconds later, the little man appeared before her once again. 'Tell me my name, or give me the child,' he cried gleefully. 'Is your name Cazbanaza?' she asked. 'No, that's not my name,' he said, grinning and dancing. 'Is it Robert?' she asked. Again he said no. 'Well, then, I am at a loss—unless your name is Rumpelstiltskin!'"

"Bit cruel, really, going through the other two first," Ron said disapprovingly. "Besides, Robert? Not exactly exotic, is it."

"The little man was furious that his name had been found out. In a rage, he stamped his foot into the floor so hard that he sank in up to his hip, then he grabbed his other leg and pulled it over his head, ripping himself in two," Hermione said.

Both boys sucked in a quick intake of pained breath at the thought, and Hermione actually joined them.

"That's disgusting," Harry said.

"And disturbing," Ron added.

"In another version he just stamps so hard a chasm opens up and he falls in, going all the way down to hell," Hermione said.

"So the queen winds up with either a ripped apart dwarf permanently embedded in her floor or an open pit that leads directly to hell in her bedroom? Bet that's not in one of Mum's decorating magazines as style tip of the month," Ron scoffed. "A throw rug is not going to fix that problem."

"Either way, the little man was never heard or seen again, and the queen lived happily ever after," Hermione finished.

"Except for being married to a complete prat and living in constant fear of whether he'd ask her to spin gold again or die," Ron added.

"Well, yes, there is that," Hermione admitted. "So, what did you think of this one?"

"Mad," Ron said conversationally but with a grin. "What did you think, Harry?"

Harry was silent for almost a full minute before replying quietly, "I don't think I like this story much."

"Why?" Ron asked. "I mean, it's nuts, yeah, but what's wrong?"

"The girl… she's treated rotten by her father who brags all the time, and she winds up being treated poorly by a rich man so that she has to barter away her necklace and her ring to stay alive," Harry said slowly. "Doesn't that sound a bit like someone we know?"

Ron and Hermione glanced at each other in shock.

"Merope," Hermione said. "It really does sound rather like her, doesn't it?"

Harry nodded.

"Well, at least this one's kid winds up okay," Ron said.

"Yeah," Harry replied, his jaw set firmly, "because his mum was willing to fight for him rather than just hand him off to some stranger to be eaten… or worse."

"I suppose that makes all the difference in the world," Hermione said softly.

"Yeah, mate," Ron said, looking down.

For a moment, the three of them felt the weight of their mission, as well as the terrible consequences of failure, pressing heavily upon them.

"Hermione?" Ron asked timidly.

"What, Ron?" she said, sounding like she was at the funeral of a friend.

"You wouldn't happen to know how to spin straw into pasta by any chance, would you?" he said, grinning. "I could go for linguini right now, and I think I saw a whole barn worth of straw at that farm down the road."

Hermione blinked.

"What?" he said innocently. "It's not like I'm asking you to spin it into gold or anything impossible like that."

Two pillows thrown from opposite sides of the room slammed into him with equal force, and the trio of friends laughed once more.


End file.
